


No Place to Go

by GotTheSilver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Christmas, Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: “Been a hell of a year.”“It has,” Steve agreed. “But we made it through. That’s something.”“And at least I know Christmas won’t be spent trying to take down a terrorist this year.”Steve laughs softly, watching the lights from the tree play over Tony’s face, making his eyes seem even warmer than they usually are. He’s not an idiot, he’s lived with this low level attraction to Tony for years, but ever since Tony came back to the team it’s grown. After Ultron, Steve missed Tony without even realising it. He’d come visit, bringing new tech and uniforms, and stealing off Steve’s plate when they all ate, but it wasn’t the same.And then Steve got kidnapped and Tony put the suit back on to lead the team in rescuing him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 234
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange





	No Place to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kowaiyoukai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kowaiyoukai/gifts).



> happy holidays!

Steve’s curled up on the couch, the Christmas tree that arrived at the compound one day twinkling away in the corner, a book in his hand and a mug of steaming hot cocoa on the coffee table when he hears the elevator ping.

“Hey,” Tony says as he walks in, and Steve looks up. “Where is everyone?”

Steve slips a bookmark between the pages and puts the book down, shifting his legs out of the way as Tony sits on the couch. “Sam’s gone home for Christmas, Natasha left this morning to go... somewhere, I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell me.”

“Wanda and Vision?” Tony asks, looking at Steve.

“Also gone away, I don’t know where.”

“Huh,” Tony says as he leans back against the couch with a sigh. “Rhodey’s working,” he offers. “And Pepper, well, all I know is she’s not spending Christmas with me.”

Steve looks at Tony, the exhaustion on his face clear. “You okay?” Steve asks, pressing his sock clad toes against Tony’s thigh.

“I don’t know,” Tony says as he looks up at the ceiling before turning his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “Been a hell of a year.”

“It has,” Steve agreed. “But we made it through. That’s something.”

“And at least I know Christmas won’t be spent trying to take down a terrorist this year.”

Steve laughs softly, watching the lights from the tree play over Tony’s face, making his eyes seem even warmer than they usually are. He’s not an idiot, he’s lived with this low level attraction to Tony for years, but ever since Tony came back to the team it’s grown. After Ultron, Steve missed Tony without even realising it. He’d come visit, bringing new tech and uniforms, and stealing off Steve’s plate when they all ate, but it wasn’t the same.

And then Steve got kidnapped and Tony put the suit back on to lead the team in rescuing him.

Steve’s never asked if it was that that made Tony want to come back permanently, or if Tony had been looking for an excuse to wear the armor again. And he’s certainly never asked if Tony rejoining the team was the reason he and Pepper broke up. Steve’s not sure he wants to know.

“Don’t tempt fate,” he says, eventually. “It’s only us here.”

“And it looks like you’re already in the festive mood,” Tony says, looking Steve up and down. “You look cosy. Like something out of a Hallmark movie.”

“If it were a Hallmark movie I think I’d need a dashing stranger upending my life,” Steve says, reaching for his mug and taking a sip of the cocoa. “And I’ve had enough of that.”

“Still—” Tony starts before shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tony.”

“If we’re both here, and I’m assuming you don’t have other plans, then do you want to do this whole Christmas thing together?”

“I’d like that.”

“Because my only other plan is to actually go to these horrible fancy parties and—wait, you would?”

“Tony, there’s very few people I’d want to spend a holiday with. You’re one of them.”

“Oh,” Tony says, and Steve can see the flush on Tony’s cheeks, the way his eyes widen slightly as he takes in what Steve’s said. “That’s—what do you do on Christmas?”

Steve pauses as he puts the mug back on the table. “Uh. Eat?”

“Thank you super soldier appetite,” Tony says with a roll of his eyes. “I mean. You’ve done Christmas before, right? A real Christmas.”

“I don’t know what you call a real one, but the best Christmas I had as an adult was in France one year with the Commandos,” Steve says, remembering. “We’d hunkered down in a small village, Dum Dum had managed to charm the stockings off some dame, and her family took us in to feed us. They didn’t have much, but they had a farm, and they shared what they could.”

“We could go to France.”

“No, Tony.”

“We could.”

“I don’t need to go to France,” Steve says. “It’s—I haven’t had a Christmas since I woke up. Not really. The first year—” he breaks off and shakes his head. “The first year I didn’t want to think about Christmas, it was too raw, I couldn’t—”

“Steve.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says, looking down at where Tony’s hand is squeezing his leg. “Every other year I’ve been on a mission. This is the first year I’ve had to just experience Christmas.”

“And we all left you alone,” Tony says with a slow realisation. “Wow, we suck.”

“No, Tony, it’s—look, Sam invited me to come home with him, but I said no. I’m fine being here at the compound, I promise. And, hey, I’m not alone,” Steve says, glancing at him. “You’re here.”

“But you couldn’t know I was going to be here,” Tony points out. “If I hadn’t come by, if I’d been caught up in SI business, would you have just spent Christmas alone?”

“Not like I haven’t done it before,” Steve says with a small shrug. “Really, it’s okay. There’s food in the fridge, the decorations are up, and I’ve got more than enough things to keep me occupied.”

The frown on Tony’s face doesn’t go away, and it’s making Steve want to reach over and smooth the lines away, to try and find some way of changing Tony’s mood. He’s sadly very aware of how pathetic this makes him.

“No,” Tony says in a determined tone that Steve knows only means trouble for him.

“No?”

“That’s right, no,” Tony says. “We’re going to do Christmas, you and me. We’ll, I don’t know, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss?”

“List of Christmas traditions.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“It’s not like I had normal Christmases,” Tony says. “I was shoved into a tux and made to glad hand with senators and oil tycoons as a kid, I don’t think you want to know what my idea of Christmas is.”

“Now I’m worried,” Steve says, laughing when Tony smacks his leg lightly. “Okay, okay,” he says. “We can try and figure it out together.”

“Boss, I have that list,” FRIDAY chimes in.

“Send it to me,” Tony says, flicking up a holoscreen from his watch.. “Time to make some plans.”

Steve picks up his mug again and relaxes back into the couch, watching Tony’s eyes light up as he flicks through the list FRIDAY’s sent him. He’s not entirely sure what this means for his Christmas, but he thinks he can stop Tony from going too far. He’s just not sure he wants to.

Tony’s making thoughtful noises as he scans the list, and Steve sips his hot cocoa, suddenly very sure this Christmas is going to be like no other he’s ever had before.

*

When Steve wakes up the next morning to pale light coming through his windows, he squints at the dusting of snow outside, and for a moment his half awake brain wonders if this is Tony’s doing before he realises how cold it is. “FRIDAY, can you turn the heating up?” Steve asks as he walks into his bathroom, his bare feet on tile only amping up his coldness despite the heated floors Tony installed throughout the compound. After brushing his teeth, he strips his clothes off and gets into the shower, the hot water spraying down on him going some way to warming him up.

He’s still feeling a chill after he’s dried off and he pulls on the cosiest sweatpants he owns, along with some thick socks, before he notices the sweater on his bed that wasn’t there before he got in the shower.

It’s hideous. Bright green with a reindeer on the front, and what Steve sadly suspects are light up bulbs on it that are draped over the reindeer’s antlers. Sighing, he pulls on a tank top before he looks at the sweater again. He knows Tony left it here, and if he doesn’t wear it, Tony will definitely have something to say. Or he’ll pout mockingly and Steve won’t be able to resist putting it on anyway.

A fond smile on his face, Steve picks it up and pulls it on, vaguely surprised that it’s not scratchy as all hell given how quickly Tony must’ve got his hands on it. There’s a slim button on the cuff and he presses it, laughing softly as the lights start twinkling.

Steve finds Tony in the kitchen, bags of something that smells good scattered on the breakfast bar, along with groceries that Tony appears to be putting away. “Please tell me you slept,” Steve says, wincing when Tony bangs his head against the fridge door.

“Ouch,” Tony says, rubbing the back of his head as he turns around, a carton of eggs in his hand. “You know, for someone so big, you’re goddamn quiet when you walk.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, walking over and tilting Tony’s head to check he hasn’t seriously injured himself. “No blood, you’re good.”

“And you’re wearing the sweater,” Tony says, a smile in his voice that’s all over his face when he looks up at Steve. “You like it?”

“It’s hideous,” Steve says, glancing down at the flashing lights on his chest for a moment. “But thank you.”

“Merry Christmas,” Tony says, the curve of his mouth almost looking like a promise. “And mine is worse, look.”

Steve hadn’t even noticed the sweater Tony’s wearing, and he takes a step back to fully take it in. Tony’s sweater is bright red with a snowman that has a knitted nose sticking out, and, like Steve’s, there’s lights draped all over the snowman, but Tony’s sweater has the addition of what looks like glitter sewn into the snowman’s fluff.

“Wow,” Steve says, smothering a laugh. “Really, that’s—where did you _find_ these?”

“I have a stylist,” Tony says with a shrug. “It took some persuading that we wouldn’t wear them where people could see, but she couriered them over this morning.”

“I’m guessing this was on the list?”

“Ugly Christmas sweaters, check,” Tony says, turning to put the eggs away. “I went into town,” he continues. “Did we know a bakery had opened up?”

Steve looks at the bags on the breakfast bar, realising where they must’ve come from. “Sounds like your plan worked out,” he says. “They smell good.”

“Offer free energy and people come running,” Tony says as he continues unpacking the groceries. “There’s cinnamon rolls in one of those bags, bagels and lox in another, maybe some muffins? I’m not really sure.”

“Did you buy everything they made?” Steve asks as he roots around, pulling out a cinnamon roll, all gooey and smothered with frosting. It smells incredible, and he bites into it, unable to stop the moan that slips from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters under his breath, and Steve’s not sure he was meant to hear that.

Steve wolfs down the rest of the roll and washes the stickiness off his hands before he starts helping Tony put the rest of the groceries away. It doesn’t take long, and soon they’re sitting at the table eating the rest of the bakery goodies Tony picked up.

“The butcher is getting us roast beef,” Tony says as he polishes off a muffin. “If that’s okay.”

“You’ve been busy,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of coffee.

“It’s Christmas in four days, Steve.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“So, roast beef?”

“Sounds good,” Steve says warmly. “What else are we having?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Tony—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Steve pauses, looking at him, the way the winter sunlight is casting a warm glow on Tony’s skin and he sighs. “Yes,” he says, the corner of his mouth turning up. “I trust you.”

There’s a look on Tony’s face that passes before Steve can interpret it, and he ducks his head. “So,” Tony says, tapping his fingers against the table. “Since I’ve done all the hard work this morning while you slept in—”

“It’s 9am.”

“While you slept in,” Tony repeats. “We’re watching Die Hard.” Tony looks at Steve. “Any objections?”

“No,” Steve says. “But—”

“There it is.”

“If you’re picking Die Hard, I get to pick what we do next.”

“Okay.”

Steve leans back in his chair and bites his bottom lip as he looks at Tony, not entirely sure how his idea is going to be taken. “There’s a Christmas Market in town,” he says. “I want to go.”

“Oh,” Tony says quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just—” Tony breaks off and shakes his head, offering Steve an easy smile. “Sure. That’s probably on FRIDAY’s list somewhere anyway.”

“Well, good,” Steve says, finishing his coffee and standing up collecting the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher, feeling Tony’s eyes on him as he does. “That’s my pick, then.”

“Okay,” Tony says, in the softest voice Steve has ever heard coming from him. “Good pick.”

*

Tony falls asleep before the body hits Al’s cop car, and Steve watches the rest of the movie ever so painfully aware of Tony’s body curled up next to him. Tony’s head is resting against Steve’s chest, and at some point Steve ended up with his arm draped around Tony’s shoulders. The thing is that this isn’t new, Tony’s fallen asleep on him before, most memorably when Steve had already been napping on the couch and Tony had apparently decided he looked comfortable enough to sleep on, but there’d always been other people in the compound.

But not this time.

They’re the only two people here, and with the snow falling outside, the lights on the tree twinkling down on them, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world.

Loud gunfire from the tv makes Tony press his face against Steve’s chest like he’s trying to ignore it, but Steve can hear the tick of Tony’s heartbeat picking up as he slowly awakens. Steve tries to hold still, his eyes fixed on watching John and Holly reuniting as Tony smushes his face against Steve’s pec.

“M’sorry,” Tony says as he straightens up enough to lift his face off Steve’s chest. “Guess that nap I took wasn’t enough to see me through.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, enjoying the fact that Tony isn’t pulling away, and is instead almost curling in closer to Steve. “It’s not like you haven’t watched this before.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, yawning. “But I always like hearing you discuss his tactical prowess.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘prowess’,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow. “But sure.”

Tony has a sleepy smile on his face, lines on his face from Steve’s sweater, and it’s all Steve can do to stop himself from leaning in and kissing him the way he wants to.

“So,” Tony says, breaking Steve’s focus. “Christmas market?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, feeling his cheeks heat up even though he knows there’s no way Tony can know what he was just thinking. “Christmas market.”

*

Tony drives them into town, parking in the lot a little way down from the new bakery, and when Steve gets out he blinks against the falling snow. Sticking his hands in his coat pockets, he turns to look at Tony and finds him gazing up at the sky with wonder on his face. Steve swallows, watching the way Tony smiles as the snow falls on him, flakes catching on his eyelashes and the curls of his hair sticking out under the red beanie he’d tugged on before they left.

“Beautiful,” he breathes out without thinking.

“Hmm?” Tony looks at him, his cheeks already reddening with the cold. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Steve says quickly. “We should—the market?”

Tony’s eyes narrow as he examines Steve and Steve barely resists squirming under the scrutiny. “Yeah,” Tony says eventually. “I think it’s this way.”

They easily fall into step with each other as they walk towards the market, shoulders brushing together. “What do you want?” Steve asks, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

“From... life?”

“No,” Steve laughs. “For Christmas. As a gift.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Tony says. “I. Huh. Hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Have you got me a gift?”

“Yeah, but—”

“What?”

“You don’t have to get me one,” Tony says, shoulders hunched over a little as they continue walking. “Most people don’t.”

Steve frowns as the market comes into view. “I’m not most people,” Steve says. “And I want to give you a gift.”

“You’re such a stubborn—” Tony pauses as some kids run by them. “Butt.”

“Butt? Really?”

“Shut up,” Tony says with a smile. “I’m trying to be a good example to the youth. Look, there’s hot chocolate, lets get that, my hands are freezing.”

They join the queue for hot chocolate as Steve ponders what exactly he’s going to give Tony for Christmas. There’s nothing he can really think to buy him, though he’ll look as they walk around the market, and there’s nothing Tony ever really says he wants. He could—there’s a painting he’s been working on that he could give to Tony, but it’s—it’s personal. Raw in a way Steve doesn’t know if he’s comfortable showing right now. Putting it out of his mind for the moment, Steve orders them hot chocolates with marshmallows, and steps back to wait for them to be ready.

“Hey,” Tony says, nudging Steve with his elbow. “I know this was your idea, but if you don’t want to be here—”

“What wouldn’t I want to be here?”

Tony shrugs. “You looked—ignore me.”

“Couldn’t if I tried,” Steve says with a small smile. “What were you going to say?”

“I know you don’t like the cold,” Tony says seriously. “If you—”

“That’s what the hot chocolate is for,” Steve says. “And you don’t like the cold either.”

“Guess we’re a perfect match,” Tony says. “Oh, hey, our drinks are ready.”

Steve’s mind is still stuck on the perfect match comment when Tony hands him the hot chocolate piled high with mini marshmallows and he almost stumbles over his own feet as they walk away. The market is fairly busy, but they go unnoticed, browsing the stalls as they make their way through the crowds.

Tony stops by a stall selling Christmas ornaments and picks up a couple, smiling at the trader when she wraps them up for him. Steve traces a finger along one of the more delicate pieces, admiring the craftsmanship that’s gone into creating them. There’s a stall selling warm cookies, and Steve buys a bunch, sharing them with Tony as they continue strolling through the market.

“I didn’t know we had all this,” Steve says around a mouthful of cookie. “I knew people had taken advantage of the free energy, but—”

“Well. There might’ve been a little help,” Tony says, his hands in his pockets. “Possibly.”

“Tony—”

“Santa never reveals his secrets,” Tony interrupts.

“Actually I’m sure there are several movies about him revealing his secrets,” Steve says, knocking their shoulders together. “This was nice of you, Tony.”

Tony shrugs. “I just put out the call for traders, paid for the stalls, covered the permits,” he says. “Wasn’t much.”

Steve looks around, taking in the people from town walking around, laughing and enjoying time with their friends, the kids on the mini ice skating rink holding onto penguins to stay steady, and the teenagers drinking hot chocolate and sharing fresh donuts. “No,” he says hoarsely as he turns back to Tony. “It’s a lot, Tony.”

There’s a red flush on Tony’s cheeks, and he glances away. “Well. It seems to make people happy. Doesn’t make up for—” he cuts himself off. “It’s something, I guess.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“What?”

“Act like the things you used to do are who you are,” Steve says. “They’re not.”

“You have no idea how much blood is on my hands,” Tony says quietly. “Steve, you just—”

“You think everything we did in the war was clean? That we were able to sleep at night with the choices we had to make?”

“No, but—”

“What?”

Tony looks at him, his eyes glinting in the glow from the string lights on all the stalls. “You were doing it in the name of something.”

“How many lives have you saved by now?” Steve asks, grabbing Tony by the sleeve and tugging him over to a quiet spot by the stall selling garlands. “Tony, there’s no cosmic balance sheet. We make choices and live with the consequences, and we try to make the best decisions we can with the information we have. That’s all we can do.”

“I—”

“Oh look at you two under the mistletoe,” comes a voice from behind them, and they turn around to see the trader smiling at them. “Go on, have a kiss.”

Steve glances up to see that she’s right, they’re underneath the mistletoe, and Steve curses himself for not noticing it before. “Uh, we’re not—”

“Tradition, Steve,” Tony says, a sharp smile on his face. “Come on.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve looks at Tony. “You think I won’t?”

“I think you—”

Steve cuts Tony off with a kiss, pressing their mouths together firmly, and he only means for it to go on for a moment, just to prove he’s up for the challenge, but—.

But Tony’s lips are so soft against his, and he finds himself lingering for longer than he intended to, and then he feels Tony’s hand against his cheek, Tony’s cold hands gently stroking Steve’s skin, and it’s—. Steve didn’t know kissing Tony would be like this, and now he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to let it go.

Tony’s the one to break the kiss, his hand still cupping Steve’s cheek, and Steve has no idea what to say. Staring at Tony, the taste of him still on his mouth, Steve licks his lips. “I—”

“It’s fine,” Tony says with a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ticking off something else on the list, right?”

“Right,” Steve says carefully. “But, Tony—”

“We’re good, Cap,” Tony says. “I could do with more hot chocolate, how about you?”

Tony walks away before Steve can say anything, and Steve’s never felt colder in his entire life.

*

They don’t talk on the way home, Steve cradles a bunch of the cookies in his lap as Tony drives them back to the compound, a sense of dread settling on his shoulders. Steve wants to say something, knows he should if only to apologise to Tony, but he can’t find the words. He should’ve just kissed him on the cheek instead of—.

But what if it was his only chance. What if—.

Steve suppresses a sigh as they pull into the garage, Tony switching the engine off. The silence is overpowering and he watches Tony’s hands tighten on the steering wheel before letting go.

“Tony, can we—”

“I’m tired, Steve,” Tony says quietly. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “I—” he breaks off and sighs. “Okay.”

Tony’s out of the car before Steve can say anything else, the bag with his market purchases left in the footwell. Steve picks it up, along with his cookies, and gets out of the car, trusting FRIDAY to secure the garage, but by the time he makes it into the compound, Tony’s vanished.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters under his breath. He doesn’t dare go and disturb Tony, not wanting to push him to the point where Tony won’t talk to him, but after putting the cookies in the kitchen, he finds himself walking down the hallways towards Tony’s room anyway. Pausing at the door he can hear Tony inside, and he almost brings his hand up to knock, but changes his mind. Instead, he leaves Tony’s bag outside and heads to his own room.

*

Steve wakes up shivering, grasping for something he can’t reach, the memory of ice water rushing into his lungs so vivid he feels like his chest is going to cave in. Making fists with his hands, he digs his nails into his palms, trying to calm himself.

Every intake of breath feels like ice in his throat, and his legs are trembling under the blankets. He’s dimly aware of his stuttering voice asking FRIDAY to turn up the heat, but it’s not enough, never enough and—.

Stumbling out of bed, Steve heads to his bathroom, and gets the shower going as hot as his skin can stand. His legs are barely holding him up, but it helps, it’s helping. The bathroom fills with steam and he breathes it in, the coldness in his chest dissipating with each inhale.

By the time he’s out of the shower, he’s stopped shivering, but he can’t shake the memories, can’t get them out of his head. Steve forgot, almost, what it was like to have the nightmares, it’s been months since he had one and it’s been almost a year since it was this bad. Looking at his bunched up sheets, Steve sighs and gets dressed, knowing he won’t be able to get back to sleep tonight.

The compound is quiet as Steve pads through the hallways to the kitchen, and he almost asks FRIDAY if Tony’s asleep but doesn’t want to risk the temptation of seeking him out if he’s not asleep. Steve doesn’t even know what he would say.

Instead, he gets out a saucepan, some milk, and the hot chocolate Sam gave him before he left, and gets to making himself something to kill the last remnants of cold lurking in him. Steve’s halfway through warming the milk when he hears the elevator ping, and he looks to the entrance to the kitchen just as Tony walks in.

Tony’s got grease smeared on his skin, his low slung sweatpants and old t-shirt also showing signs of wear, and there’s a pair of goggles pushed up in his messy hair.

Steve thinks he looks gorgeous.

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Steve looks down at the pan and picks up the hot chocolate solids, dropping them in with the slowly heating up milk and watching them melt.

“FRIDAY said you had a nightmare,” Tony says. “That you—”

“I’m okay, Tony,” Steve interrupts. “You can go back to your work.”

Tony doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Could I have some hot chocolate?”

Steve glances at him, taking in the way he’s fidgeting with his hands, and he nods. “You can get another pan out, or you can wait until I’ve made mine.”

“I’ll get another pan,” Tony says quietly. “If you don’t mind showing me.”

“It’s milk and chocolate, Tony, you’d have to try pretty hard to screw it up.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, just waits for Tony to put the pan on the stove. There’s no way to avoid being close to Tony like this, and for the first time in a long time, Steve wishes he was the old him, or at least that he could stand there without his shoulders bumping into Tony each time he stirs the hot chocolate.

“Here,” Steve says, handing over some chocolate. “Melt these in with the milk.”

Tony nods as he takes them, paying an inordinate amount of attention to the pan, and Steve watches him for a moment before he turns back to his own mixture. It’s looking ready, so he pours it into a mug and steps away, leaning back against the counter while Tony keeps stirring his.

The mug warms his hands as he breathes in the scent of it. There’s a hint of cinnamon in the mix, and Steve needs to remember to ask Sam where he got it so he can stock up for the rest of winter. Tony’s done, pouring his drink into a mug, and Steve is suddenly hit with a panic that Tony’s going to walk away.

“Did I ruin us?” Steve asks quietly.

Tony pauses, the mug halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t know there was a us to ruin,” he says, lowering the mug without taking a sip. “Steve, I—”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Steve says quickly. “I don’t know if you thought it was a joke, or that I was ticking something off a list, or—but I wanted to do it. Been wanting to do it for a while.”

“You— _oh_ ,” Tony says, his brow furrowed. “Really?”

“Kinda thought I was being obvious,” Steve says, lifting one shoulder up in a shrug. “Natasha teases me about it all the time.”

Tony puts his mug down on the counter before he takes a few steps towards Steve and gently lifts the mug out of Steve’s hand. “Obvious, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching and tugging the goggles out of Tony’s hair, laying them on the counter. “Obvious.”

“Maybe you should’ve been more direct,” Tony says as Steve’s hand cups his face, thumb rubbing against the stubborn grease stain on his cheek.

“I kissed you, in the middle of the Christmas market,” Steve says quietly, sucking in a breath when Tony’s hands slide around his waist, fingers tapping against the small of his back. “How much more direct could I be?”

“So, to be clear, you—”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even finish the sentence, what if I’d said you want to fuck me over the table?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “The answer would still be yes.”

“Right,” Tony says. “I—you mean—”

Leaning in, Steve catches Tony’s mouth in a kiss. It’s not like the market, this time Tony’s ready for it, and Steve doesn’t hold back, putting everything he feels into it. Tony’s hands are clutching desperately at Steve’s shirt, his fingers pressing against the muscles of Steve’s back, and Steve wants more, wants to feel Tony’s talented hands all over him. It’s intoxicating, being able to have Tony like this, really have him, to hear his little gasps as they kiss, to nip at his bottom lip and feel a shiver run down his body.

If Steve thought he wouldn’t be able to let Tony go after the market, that’s nothing to how he feels right now, pressed back against the counter with Tony invading all his senses. Tony’s everywhere, and Steve doesn’t want to lose this, ever.

Breaking the kiss, Steve smiles when Tony pouts and doesn’t move away, his hands roaming underneath Steve’s t-shirt and stroking the skin he finds there. Steve presses his thumb against Tony’s swollen lips, feeling a tug low in his gut when Tony’s tongue darts out to lick it.

“So,” Steve says in a rough voice, moving his thumb away, his hands running down Tony’s arms, unable to stop touching him. “Was that obvious enough?”

“Not sure,” Tony says, leaning in and trailing a line of kisses up Steve’s neck. “Maybe we should move this to my room and you can try and convince me again?”

“If you really think you need it,” Steve says. “I mean, if you’re not sure about how I feel, then—”

“I’m sure,” Tony says, kissing the hinge of Steve’s jaw before leaning back to meet his eyes. “Steve, I’m sure. Okay?”

Taken aback by the seriousness in Tony’s face, Steve nods. “I know, Tony,” he says firmly. “I know.”

And Steve does know, as he watches Tony’s face slip into a soft smile before tangling their fingers together and picking up his mug with his free hand, waiting for Steve to do the same. Steve knows because he _has_ to, because he knows that he wouldn’t be risking their friendship, their team, if he weren’t sure, and Tony is the same way. Steve knows because—because both of them have already sacrificed so much in their personal lives for the good of the world. They have to be sure, Steve thinks as he sips his hot chocolate, Tony leaning against his side. It's too damn dangerous if they’re not.

Steve presses a kiss against the top of Tony’s head. “What were you doing in the workshop?”

“Can’t tell you,” Tony says. “I’m not—it’s a Christmas thing, not a work thing.”

“It’s not going to blow up in my face, is it?”

“Trust me.”

“I do,” Steve says, before he finishes his drink and puts his mug down on the counter. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up and in bed. We could both do with some sleep.”

“Just sleep?”

Steve laughs, taking Tony’s mug from his hands and putting it down. “We’ll see,” he says, leaning in and placing a quick kiss against the corner of Tony’s mouth. “We’ll see.”

*

Christmas Day sees Steve waking up with Tony’s head nestled on his chest, a comforting warm weight as he slowly opens his eyes. He sighs, pulling Tony a little closer, enjoying the slide of Tony’s thigh against his legs.

“Stop tryin’ to wake me up,” Tony mumbles against Steve’s chest. “Rude.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s Christmas and I’ve got you in my bed,” Steve says, his fingers rubbing a small circle against Tony’s skin.

“It’s still morning.”

“Christmas morning.”

“No.”

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

“We can have coffee if you get up,” Steve says, looking up at the ceiling and waiting.

“Okay,” Tony says after a moment. “I’m up.”

Despite Tony’s proclamation, it takes another twenty minutes for Steve to coax him out of bed, and another fifteen on top of that before they make it to the kitchen where, thanks to FRIDAY, the coffee is already brewing.

They take their mugs into the living room of the compound, along with a plate of cookies, and settle down on the couch, FRIDAY switching the christmas tree lights on. There’s a small stack of gifts under the tree that have appeared over the last few days, including some sent from Natasha that look like they’ve passed through several different countries.

“You awake?” Steve asks, watching Tony fondly over the rim of his mug, his back up against the arm of the couch, legs outstretched and tangled with Tony’s who is mirroring him at the other end of the couch.

“Almost,” Tony says before he gulps down a mouthful of his coffee. “Hey, presents.”

“That happens on Christmas.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “You don’t say?”

“Finish your coffee,” Steve says. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Play the Rat Pack Christmas album please. Low volume.”

“Certainly, Captain.”

The quiet strains of Dean Martin’s voice starts playing, and Steve sips his coffee, perfectly content with his Christmas morning.

“Dean Martin, huh?”

“I’ve been catching up,” Steve says. “Sinatra did USO tours, I knew about him before I went in the ice, but Dean was a little after my time.”

“Dad met them all in the sixties, partying hard in Vegas, I imagine. Think there’s still some photos around somewhere,” Tony says with a small smile. “I met them as a kid, but I don’t remember. Wasn’t exactly the best environment for a kid to be running around.”

“You turned out okay,” Steve says, nudging Tony’s thigh with his foot. “I’m pretty fond of you.”

Tony shakes his head before he finishes his coffee, putting the mug on the ground. “Enough reminiscing,” he says, getting up. “Gifts.”

Steve watches as Tony pokes the parcels under the tree before he gets up and joins him on the floor by the tree. “Can we leave the gifts we got each other for last?”

“Sure,” Tony says, eyeing him curiously. “You’re not wearing a bow under your sweatpants, right?”

“You watched me get dressed,” Steve says. “When would I have had time to put a bow down there?”

“I don’t know, you’re sneaky sometimes,” Tony says. “You could use your super soldier skills.”

“For wrapping a bow around my cock? I’m sure that's just what the Army was thinking of when I signed up.”

“The military has kinks we may never know about,” Tony says seriously. “Ask Rhodey.”

“Speaking of, this is from him,” Steve says, peering at a gift tag before handing it to Tony.

It’s a tacky tourist magnet, and Tony tells Steve the story of how their tradition started at MIT because Rhodey didn’t have a clue what to buy him, so ended up giving him a tacky Boston magnet that Tony immediately stuck to his toolbox. “No one had ever bought me a Christmas gift when they didn’t have to,” Tony says, looking at this year’s magnet from Ohio of all places. “Rhodey was the first person I met who didn’t ask me for anything because of who I was.”

“But you still bought him something.”

“Tickets home, that I made him accept because I roped Mama Rhodes into it,” Tony says with a smile. “He let me join him and ended up being annoyed that his mom fed me his favourite mac and cheese first.”

“Sounds like a good Christmas,” Steve says, squeezing Tony’s shoulder. “I’m glad you had that.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Mama Rhodes was always good to me.”

They unwrap gifts from Natasha, soft sweaters in similar colours that Steve never would’ve picked out himself, but immediately loves. There’s a few smaller gifts from Pepper, more hot chocolate from Sam with a note that he’s keeping his supplier secret that makes Steve laughs, some treats from old SHIELD staff who now work with them, drawings from Clint’s kids, and before Steve realises it, all that’s left are their gifts to each other.

Steve picks up his gift for Tony and hands it over. “I, uh. I hope you like it,” he says as Tony takes it from him.

Tony unwraps it carefully, like he’s worried it’s going to vanish from his hands, and Steve’s so nervous he wants to rip the paper off himself to get the waiting over with. Instead he watches Tony’s face as the gift is revealed to him.

“You— _wow_ ,” Tony breathes out, staring at the canvas. “You painted this?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Tony says. “Steve, you didn’t—I would’ve been happy with socks.”

“That’s because you’re always losing them,” Steve says. “I hope I got Dum-E and U right, I tried to sketch them when I was down there, but I couldn’t bring the canvas down there without ruining the surprise, so—”

“They’re perfect,” Tony interrupts, looking up from the painting. “And you—this is how you see me?”

Steve feels his face heat up because he knows what it looks like, how he spent so long getting the curve of Tony’s jaw just right, the colour of his eyes the exact shade, the way his hair falls on his forehead as accurate as possible. Anyone would look at the painting and be able to tell he was in love with Tony. “Yes,” he says. “It’s how I’ve always seen you.”

Tony swallows, his eyes sparkling as he looks back at the painting. “It’s amazing,” he says in a hoarse voice before gently resting it against the couch. “Open yours.”

Steve picks up the last box under the tree and starts to open it, feeling Tony’s eyes on him. It’s got some heft to it, and the reveal of a plain box under the wrapping paper piques Steve’s curiosity. When he finally gets it open, he sucks in a breath. “Tony,” he whispers. “What—”

“It’s a nightlight,” Tony says before scrunching up his face. “Not that you’re five and need one, but—we both travel a lot, and you have nightmares, right? So do I. And there’s times I won’t be there when you have one, so I—”

“Made a nightlight out of an arc reactor,” Steve says, lifting it out of the box. “Tony.”

“It’s not really an arc reactor,” Tony says. “I mean it is, it’s the last design that I had in my chest, but I made it specifically to be a nightlight. There’s a button on it, or you can ask FRIDAY and she’ll light it for you if you can’t—”

“You were making this before I kissed you, weren’t you?” Steve says, glancing at Tony.

“Well. You had to have been working on the painting before you kissed me, so—”

“But I knew that I—I didn’t know you—” Steve gently puts the nightlight back in the box, trying to wrap his head around what this means. “You mean you—”

“Yeah,” Tony says with a small shrug. “For a while now.”

“We’re both idiots,” Steve says, rubbing a palm over his face. “We could’ve— _shit_.”

“Steve? Hey, we have this now,” Tony says, shuffling closer. “We worked it out.”

And the thing is, Tony’s right. They could’ve done this sooner, and maybe it would’ve worked out then, Steve doesn’t know, but they’re here now, and Steve—he couldn’t ask for anything more. Leaning over the mess of wrapping paper between them, he kisses Tony softly, letting their mouths play together in a quiet reassurance of what he feels.

“We did,” Steve says, resting their foreheads together when he breaks the kiss. “We worked it out.”


End file.
